The Art of Letting Go
by Star-Slut
Summary: Sherlock is frustrated with his inability to comprehend the common man's simple mind, and decides to perform an experiment on John. However, this experiment does not go according to plan... Sherlock/Watson. Let there be slash.
1. Experiment

John Watson was forcing his legs to carry him up the stairs to his and Sherlock's flat in 221 B Baker street. There seemed to be more steps than usual... Of course, this wasn't true. But his legs ached in protest with every lift.

He finally reached the top, and almost fell through the front door. Sherlock was at the desk, his fingertips meeting before his lips, the picture of speculation. John studied him for a moment. Living with Sherlock, he had begun to notice small things, and he observed that Sherlock had responded to John's entrance, if only minutely. His spine had straightened out slightly, his eyes widened a bit. His feet beneath the chair had slid back just a quarter of a centimeter. However, when no conversation ensued, John made his way to his bedroom.

Once inside, he wearily stripped off his jacket and tossed it onto the bed. He then eased himself onto the edge of it, grunting as he did so, not because he was old, which he really wasn't, but because he had such a horrid headache. He rubbed his eyes and then took his shoes and socks off. It had been a long day.

John took a nap, which he intended to be short, but ended up consuming 4 hours of daylight, and into the night. When he awoke, however, he felt much better. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. A yawn overtook him and he was mid-stretch when a gunshot rang through the flat. He flinched, but soon realized that Sherlock was merely passing the time. He rolled his eyes and went to his door. He opened it only enough to lean his head out.

"Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson will have your head if you keep that up."

Sherlock lifted his head above the back of the couch where he lay.

"John!" He sat up and faced the abused wall. "John, I'm frustrated. I hate being frustrated. Especially when it's I who cause it." John squeezed his eyes shut, reminding himself that he'd probably regret it if he took the bait, but he never truly could resist that beautiful man...

His eyes shot open. He was honestly terrified of these thoughts he had been having lately. He wasn't one to ignore a problem, soldier that he was, but he could see no way to fix the problem but to ignore them. He would not see the clear blue of Sherlock's eyes, nor the gorgeous curl of his deep brown hair, would not acknowledge the shiver that ran down his spine every time that man's deep, sultry voice spoke his name... Whenever these observations came to mind unbidden, he would force an image of Sarah in front of his eyes and take a deep breath.

It sometimes worked.

John sighed in defeat and opened the door to allow him to go to Sherlock.

"One might believe that being enlightened is worth not being able to understand things _normal_ people would consider simple, but it frustrates me to no end!"

John sat beside Sherlock on the couch, wearing only jeans and a white v-neck. Sherlock was still in the deep purple, silk dress shirt and black dress pants he had put on that morning.

"So, being a sociopath isn't all it's cracked up to be?" Sherlock looked at John, his jaw set in a stern manner.

"Most of the time, it is. People's minds are just so... Slowed down by all this unnecessary information about... Reactions and consideration for others' emotions... Love..." Sherlock looked down at the gun in his hand. It suddenly fell lax, the gun landing hard on the carpet. He studied his hand as it flexed and clenched. He isolated every finger one by one as he spoke.

"Plato once wrote about such people as I..." He lifted his gaze from his hand to John's curious expression. "John, have you ever read the Allegory of the Cave?"

John narrowed his eyes and shook his head, his brow furrowed.

"It speaks of all humanity being in a cave, sight weakened by the darkness they are born into. However, a few break away, walk into the sun. At first, they are blinded, and it's painful beyond belief. Eventually, though, their eyes adjust, and they see things as they truly are. They are the Enlightened."

Sherlock paused to make sure John was keeping up. Then, he continued.

"As Plato writes, it is their job to go back into the cave and teach the others to see. However, being blind to the dark, the rest believe Enlightenment is a terrible thing that makes you unable to grasp simple concepts, unable to see things clearly in the darkness of the cave. They resist.

"Plato also writes of what happens if an Enlightened individual lets himself drift too high into the clouds, becoming disconnected from humanity. So enlightened can one become, that he cannot see things the way others can. He is ostracized, called a '_freak'..._"

Sherlock dropped his eyes to his hands, unable to meet John's gaze any longer. John understood.

"Sherlock..." John made a move to touch Sherlock somehow, lay a hand on him, but... What would he do? Hold his hand? Put a hand on his knee? _Too forward, too forward..._

And so his hand hovered awkwardly in the air. He eventually let it drop.

"I wish I understood, John. Truly, I do. I want to know that the Earth revolves around the sun, things like that..."

When Sherlock lifted his eyes to John's again, there were tears brimming in them, and a terror shimmering behind them.

"I want to understand love, John." John opened his mouth to say something, but no words formed. He snapped his jaw shut.

Sherlock stood suddenly, his tense form emanating frustration.

"But I just _don't_!" Sherlock faced away from John for a time while John grasped for the right words to say. _So much irony..._

"I understand that it would be against many many social expectations and personal boundaries, but..." He turned to face John. "I want to perform an experiment."

John's mouth, which was still open from trying to make words come out, snapped shut once again.

"I understand why you would react that way, and I can guess how you'll react to the actual explanation of the experiment, but I _must_ ask." Sherlock sat next to John once more. "I can't stand being so alone..." He whispered, then leaned forward, his face in his hands. He stayed like that for a moment, John still completely at a loss for words.

Sherlock sighed and lifted his eyes to John's once more.

"John, I wish you would _say _something! I can't guess what you're thinking, and I really really want to know. Please say _something_!"

John swallowed.

"What... What's your experiment?"

A light flared to life behind Sherlock's eyes. He turned his body to face John, one leg crossed before him on the couch.

"I want to experiment with human response to stimuli. I have absolutely no idea how you feel about me, and it's another thing that constantly bothers me, to not be able to deduce something."

"I... What kind of... Stimuli...?" John really was more willing than he would admit to do anything Sherlock asked, or even sort of hinted at, and it was a terrifying feeling for him. He wasn't used to this vulnerability.

"Obviously, stimuli that would evoke an emotional response. And any other kinds of responses..." Sherlock's eyes raced with burning curiosity and anticipation.

John's were full of terror.

_Emotional response to stimuli... _Other _kinds of responses? Oh, God..._

And yet, John heard his reply before his mind could catch up.

"Yes."

Sherlock smiled with the excitement of a child in a candy store, but still that underlying _fear..._

"Alright. Thank you."

John cleared his throat nervously and mirrored Sherlock's position to face him. He might as well play along as best he could.

"You'll have to promise to only give me _honest _responses, yes?"

_No._

"Yes."

There was a pause. John could see in Sherlock's eyes that he was thinking of what to do first...

"John, I love you."

John thought he felt his stomach fall into the couch. His lips and teeth parted slightly in surprise, and a faint flush colored his cheeks.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, it was hardly perceptible, but John was truly _looking _at Sherlock, so it did not go unnoticed by him. He watched Sherlock's eyes note all the changes in his face and body posture, and self-consciously closed his mouth. It was becoming something of a habit with him, snapping his mouth shut...

Sherlock cleared his throat, preparing for the next _stimuli_...

"John, I _love_ you."

He said it so earnestly, with a sort of huskiness to his deep voice. John, staying true to his word to respond honestly, pulled his lower lip between his teeth just a bit. He knew Sherlock wouldn't miss it.

"How are you feeling?"

_Just an experiment, just an experiment, answer honestly._

"A little light-headed."

"Interesting."

"And..." _Don't say it, oh God, don't say it. _"My mouth is dry."

Sherlock's head twisted to the side a little, confusion furrowing his brow.

"Hmm."

John felt himself flush deeper under Sherlock's scrutiny.

Sherlock carefully lifted a hand to John's face. He watched it as it neared him. When he could no longer follow it with his eyes, he looked back at Sherlock, who was studying him intently. His fingertips met with John's warm cheek. Once, twice, then finally cradling his jaw.

John found himself lost in Sherlock's eyes, and couldn't truly find it in himself to be appalled. His hand was so warm...

_Experiment, experiment..._

Just then, Sherlock's hand started traveling down. The long, slender fingers trailed down John's neck, collarbone, to his mid-chest. It stopped there, and he pressed his palm against where John's heart was, behind his molded bicep. Being a soldier had given him a rewarding figure.

_Experiment..._

"John, your heart is beating much too fast." Sherlock pulled his hand away, looking with concern at John's face. "Perhaps we should continue this later..."

"No, I'm fine. Really."

_Shit. _He had answered too quickly. Sherlock had noticed. How could he not? _He notices everything..._

Sherlock looked at John reproachfully, but seemed to believe him.

"If you say so. Stand please."

Sherlock stood, and John followed.

_Oh... Much too close..._

Sherlock bent and picked up a necktie from the coffee table and handed it to John.

"John, I need you to blindfold yourself."

"Pardon?"

"Blindfold. Tie this around your eyes."

John's brow furrowed uncertainly, but he took the tie and complied.

"Okay, now what?"

"Now we resume with the stimuli."

"Right... Stimuli... I feel like a bloody fool."

A low laugh rumbled in Sherlock's throat, causing John's to tighten.

It was very disarming, not being able to see what Sherlock was doing, and John didn't like it. However, he had agreed to this. No turning back now.

The next thing he sensed was Sherlock stepping into his personal space. He leaned back instinctively, but Sherlock grabbed his upper arms, keeping him in place. John was suddenly super sensitive to everything.

He felt Sherlock put his face next to John's, and his heart stuttered in his chest. He felt Sherlock breathe in John's ear, and John's knees gave a little. A small sigh escaped his lips, unbidden.

"John..." Sherlock whispered in his ear. He didn't say anything. "I truly don't know where to go from here. I've never done anything like this." He leaned away and removed the blindfold from John.

The frustration was back in Sherlock's eyes, but John only glimpsed it briefly because now he was tying the necktie over _his _eyes...

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"I need you to do what a normal person would do, John. Since I am obviously not competent enough..." Sherlock was almost growling with frustration.

John didn't know what to do. _Okay, well, that's a lie... _He knew what he _wanted_ to do, but, to do it?

"John! Please, I'm not getting any wiser in the ways of the common man."

"Sherlock, relax. You're too tense. You need to calm your mind enough to heighten your senses." Sherlock took a deep breath and complied.

"Okay."

John swallowed. What was he doing?

"Can you feel this?" John put a hand a centimeter away from the detective's face. A pause.

"Yes."

John was trembling.

"And this...?"

He leaned in and breathed in Sherlock's ear, just as he had done to him.

"Yes." Sherlock was simply answering questions, like a scientist, but there was a rawness to his voice that hadn't been there before.

It was that vulnerability that stilled John's trembling. He suddenly knew exactly what to do.

He pulled back and put his face as close to the detective's as he dared.

"And this...?" He whispered.

Sherlock's suddenly flushed lips parted slightly, and before John could talk himself out of it, he closed the gap.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>**Sooo some of you may have noticed that I uploaded another story previously with the same title, and some of you seemed to like it. Once I got to school, my girlfriend told me she had read it, and commented that it had an uncharacteristic amount of grammatical errors, which I found extremely odd and, well... Uncharacteristic. I tried to brush it off, since I did write it from 5 pm to 1 am, but could not get it off my mind. And so, as soon as I got home (just a few minutes ago) I decided to read over my work to correct it. **

**I swear I almost shat my pants. I had accidentally uploaded an entire fanfiction I had literally _copied and pasted _onto my computer so I could take it with me and still be able to read it without wifi. Genius that I am, I had titled the two documents the exact same name. Letter for letter.**

**Who _does_ that!**

**And so, dear reader, I am apologize most sincerely, and to the exceptional author who wrote the story I previously published under my netname, I am eternally embarrassed and sorry to no end! If you, reader, wish to find this author's story, simply go here: .net/s/7327362/1/Talking_to_myself. I highly recommend it! And send your Favorites over their way, not mine.**

**Hoping you like _my actual story_. (*Facepalm*)**


	2. Not According to Plan

The result was almost instantaneous. Sherlock's fingers grasped John's hips roughly, pulling them together. John was utterly surprised at himself, and that Sherlock was _kissing him back_...

John's mouth opened against Sherlock's, forcing his open, and his tongue slid in, just enough to touch the tip of Sherlock's, and he tasted wine and mint...

Sherlock gasped and pulled back. They were both breathing heavily, still closer than socially acceptable.

"Interesting." Sherlock was breathless.

Suddenly, he ripped the blindfold off and turned from John's grasp. He went to the desk behind them, and started rummaging through the drawers.

John swallowed and tried to slow his breathing. He sat on the couch, mentally kicking himself in the shin for letting his heart get into it. He was so _stupid_...

Sherlock growled and shoved the last drawer closed. He then hastily made his way to the bathroom, and flicked the lights on. John leaned his face into his hands and sighed.

_Stupid, stupid, like a school girl, he'll never respect someone like me..._

Sherlock was studying his flushed reflection in the bathroom mirror with an expression of fascination.

"I..."

John lifted his head and turned to look at Sherlock. One hand was feeling the pulse in the side of his neck, and the other was lightly touching his warm face.

"I don't understand."

His brow furrowed. He clearly didn't like not understanding. He dropped his hands to the sink, and looked down at them. They were quivering slightly.

"Sherlock?"

The man in question raised on trembling hand before his face and studied it. There was fear in his eyes.

"I don't understand..."

"Are you alright?"

John stood and approached the detective. He turned to look at the doctor, his breathing ragged and his eyes misty with tears of confusion.

"I don't understand, John. What's happening to me? What's..."

John reached him just in time to catch him as Sherlock collapsed. He couldn't support him, but he eased him to the tile floor. His face was that of a scared child. John had never seen him like this.

"I feel..."

"You feel what, Sherlock?"

Blue eyes met brown.

"I feel this... This pain in my chest. I've never felt anything like it before. My abdomen muscles are tense. And I'm _crying... _John..."

He didn't think. The doctor leaned in between Sherlock's legs and kissed him once again. The detective gasped in surprise, but returned the kiss with enthusiasm. John fisted his hands in Sherlock's gorgeous hair, and was rewarded with warm hands on his neck. They slid down his chest and abdomen, and eventually seized the end of his shirt.

A low moan broke in John's throat as the hands pulled his shirt up. He pulled his lips free to allow the shirt over his head, but the hands stilled.

"Oh, I-I didn't mean to... My emotions seem heightened, I c-can't..." Sherlock was actually _stammering_.

"Hey." John held the detective's face, forcing him to look into his eyes. "Have you ever just given yourself over to your instincts?"

Sherlock's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed dryly.

"I-I've suppressed them. It's pri..." The rest of the word was lost in a gush of air and he started again. "It's primitive, I've never-"

He was cut off by the doctor's lips on his. Just one kiss.

"Well, maybe it's time you did." John whispered against Sherlock's trembling lips. The detective took a few shaking breaths before letting his hands slide up and over John's head, taking his shirt with them.

Sherlock let his eyes rove over John's toned torso, wanting more than anything to just give into his most filthy, obscene desires...

It was that look in Sherlock's eyes, so full of desire, of pure _want_, that settled John's nerves. He was the one in control, for once. Sherlock was on foreign territory, he was afraid, vulnerable, and so completely consumed with lust...

John smiled. He stood and offered Sherlock his hand.

"Come on. We're not doing this in the washroom. We're going to do this properly."

Sherlock looked up at him with lust and fear painted all over his face.

"Do what?" He asked timidly.

"I'm going to help you feel human."

Sherlock took a steadying breath, and then took John's hand. He stood, but barely. His knees were weak with fear, fear he could not understand, fear of the unknown.

John's strong arms caught him. He looked into those warm brown eyes, and saw no reason to be afraid...

They walked to John's bedroom in silence, hands joined.

They stood looking at the bed for a moment, and John eventually looked at Sherlock's face.

"I'm scared, John." He whispered. John gently turned his head with his hand to face him, and kissed him softly.

"Don't be." Sherlock took a deep breath and nodded. John pulled back to look in his eyes. "You're sure, though?"

"I want..." He seemed to search for the words. "I want to have you... And to give myself to you. I want to figure you out, to explore, to learn, to hold you and never let you go..." John smiled. "I want... You. John."

They kissed again.

"And you will have me."


	3. First Time

He pulled Sherlock to the bed, and they sat on the edge. John's steady fingers began undoing Sherlock's buttons as his tongue began undoing Sherlock's self-control. His hands grasped John's shoulders to steady himself, and just then John's fingers finished with his silk dress shirt. He pulled away slightly to whisper against Sherlock's lips.

"Let go..."

Sherlock could hear what he meant in his inflection. He meant to let go of his arms, and also the dignity he was clinging to. Huh... He had never been able to read into things like that before.

However, he complied, and his shirt was pushed off of his shoulders. John's lips met his bare skin, planting hot, open-mouth kisses from his shoulder to his jaw. Sherlock felt something rising in his chest, and he consciously tried to release whatever it was, seeing as he was making an honest effort to _let go_, just as John had told him. It broke in his throat, and it was a _sound_, unlike any he had heard or made before. The best description he had for it was a moan.

He was rewarded with John's enthusiasm. He found himself being pushed down flat against the bed and mounted.

"That's it..." He heard John croon as his hand found Sherlock's zip. He had risen to the occasion and as the doctor's hand found rubbed against his manhood as it went about its business undressing him, a noise Sherlock classified as a _whimper_ escaped from him.

"_More._" John demanded, hot against Sherlock's neck as he plunged his hand into his boxers. He gasped and his hands grasped at the sheets as he felt John's warm fingers wrap around his hardened cock.

Sherlock had taken himself in hand a few times when he was younger, but had never seen any use for it, and had so given it up. Nothing he had ever experienced felt quite like this.

He had to try less to give into his instincts now, as his self-control ebbed away.

"John..." He gasped out.

John pulled his hand free, to Sherlock's disappointment, but quickly shoved his pants and boxers down about his knees and pulled him the rest of the way up the bed, which in itself pulled them all the way off his ankles. He was surprised at John's nimbleness, but his mind was almost immediately distracted with the realization that he was completely exposed.

John noticed this, too, and looked into Sherlock's eyes, searching once again for any doubt.

"Are you still sure this is what you want?"

It was natural for Sherlock to let his instincts answer for him now.

"Please, John, _take me_..."

"You're going to have to undo my trousers, then." A smile played with the corners of John's lips.

Sherlock nodded and rolled them both over so he could undress the beautiful man beneath him. As he did so, he let words flow from his lips, words he'd never said before, never even thought before. He whispered them into John's ear, only for John.

"I want all of you, John Watson. I want to see and touch and taste all of you, to make you mine, and no one else's..."

John moaned as his trousers and boxers were removed, and Sherlock wanted to keep the sound forever, for no one else to hear.

All of a sudden, the two men found themselves completely naked, bare skin against bare skin. It was almost too much.

However, Sherlock, the cool-headed man he (usually) was, decided to experiment with different stimuli once again. He hesitantly took John in hand, drawing a delicious gasp from the doctor. Noted.

The detective drew his thumb up the side, eliciting a moan from John. Noted. He would find all of his pleasure centers, find out exactly how much pressure to apply and where to apply it to pull the most gratifying sounds from this beautiful man. Words seemed to be rewarding stimuli enough, so he tried some.

"How do you want it, John? Tell me. I am going to find all of your hidden places, places you didn't even know you had..."

A deep moan sounded in John's throat, which turned into a growl, and he turned them both back over. He looked down into Sherlock's eyes.

"I'm the doctor, remember?"

Sherlock's pulse spiked with adrenaline as he realized the implications. John's mouth was on his then, and then on his jaw, then to his neck, his collarbone. He could see what John intended to do, and some remnants of fear broke inside him.

"John... _Ahh..._!" John must have sensed Sherlock's fear, and he opted for distraction by means of giving one of Sherlock's nipples a quick bite. Noted.

John continued down the detective's body, alternatively kissing and licking the sweat off of his body, until he reached his navel. He then lowered himself straight into Sherlock's crotch, drawing his tongue achingly slowly up the side of his throbbing member.

"John, _please..._"

Noted.

John couldn't resist the opportunity to make Sherlock beg, and so his tongue toyed with the tip of Sherlock's impressive cock, already wet with precum.

"_Fuck...!" _John had never heard Sherlock curse before, and it was a beautiful sound.

He finally decided to put the detective out of misery, taking him as far as he would go into his mouth. John was rewarded with a delicious moan.

Rational thought fled from Sherlock's mind, and his hips started pumping of their own accord.

This being his first time, Sherlock did not last long.

Sherlock came with a cry, and collapsed back onto the bed as John swallowed all he had given him. He lay there in a haze as John climbed back up his body.

"You've never done that before, have you, Sherlock?" He shook his head lazily.

"Why would I have?"

"Fair point." John conceded. He lay beside Sherlock, his arms tired from supporting himself. Then, an obvious fact hit him. "Are you... Are you a virgin, Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned his head to look at John, an unreadable expression in his beautiful eyes.

"Yes, I am, John."

A smile twitched around the corners of John's mouth.

"Was...?" Sherlock's brow furrowed.

"Well, I'm pretty sure I just swallowed your virginity."

A beautiful blush graced Sherlock's glistening face that had nothing to do with the exertion.

He was adorable.

Sherlock swallowed before speaking.

"I believe it's your turn now..." Sherlock smiled with anticipation. He had never wanted anything as much as he wanted to make John come, to make him cry out his name, to reduce him to a whimpering, writhing mess. "...Doctor Watson."


	4. Fast Learner

John began to sit up.

"No, Sherlock, you don't have to feel obligated to-"

"I _want_ to, John. Relax." John stared uncertainly into those blue eyes. "I'm a fast learner." A smile played with Sherlock's lips.

John realized just how true this was, and was suddenly nervous for an entirely different reason. A warm palm pressed against John's chest, pushing him back onto his back, and Sherlock kissed him.

It was still a very odd feeling to be feeling this foreign urges, and even more odd to be giving himself over to them, but Sherlock was honestly enjoying it more than he cared to admit.

Since John was still a little tense, Sherlock decided to start with gently sucking on his neck. It was a strain for him to recognize the meaning behind small muscle spasms, tightening of different places on the body, what the noises meant. Sherlock was an expert at noticing them, but never could interpret them.

John, however, thought Sherlock was doing brilliantly.

He sucked at John's skin until he whimpered – a rewarding sound. A sound of pleasure. How could he get him to do that again?

Sherlock's mouth traveled down to John's nipple and experimented with biting it gently. A gasp – another rewarding sound. However, he still felt as if the doctor were holding back. He wanted to steal John's self-control just as John had stolen his.

John soon found that he had every right to be nervous. Sherlock was truly incredible. He quickly identified how much pressure to apply and where to apply it to make John's mind go completely blank. When the detective finally reached John's cock, begging for attention, he spared no time discovering what would draw the most beautiful moans from John's lips.

Sherlock finally took John in his mouth, and was rewarded with hands fisting in his hair. Sherlock found all John's weakest points and utilized them to the point of agony. What Sherlock could do with his _tongue..._

John came sooner than he had in several years, a cry on his lips forming around Sherlock's name.

The doctor was in such a haze that he didn't realize Sherlock had climbed back up to his side until he spoke his name.

"John."

"Y... Yes?" John's erratic respiration interrupted his reply.

Sherlock lifted himself up on one elbow to lean over John and look into his eyes.

"_I love you._"

He kissed his doctor then, a smile on both their mouths.

They fell asleep in each others' arms.


	5. Becoming Human

John Watson was pulled lazily into consciousness by the sound of the door opening. He stirred, and was greeted by a familiar baritone voice.

"Morning."

He groaned and stretched.

"Mmmmmorning."

He squinted into the daylight to see Sherlock in his navy, satin robe, holding out a cup of tea to him. He sat up and took it gratefully. His eyes squinted against the direct sunlight that shone through the curtains as soon as Sherlock moved to sit on his side of the bed.

They sipped their tea in silence for a while, until even Sherlock could sense the awkwardness. He did not understand it. However, before he could ask, John spoke.

"Sherlock, do you regret anything?"

"What?" His brow furrowed in confusion.

"I just don't... Want to ruin the platonic companionship we shared before this..."

"John, you didn't ruin _anything_."

The doctor looked at him uncertainly.

"Are you sure? You're not... Rethinking anything?"

Sherlock looked down into his tea to avoid John's gaze.

"Well... Rethinking? No. But there is something that's bothering me, John."

"Well... What is it?"

"You never said you loved me back." Sherlock lifted his mug to his lips and gulped down some tea. John sighed and set his tea on his bedside table.

"Is that truly bothering you?"

Sherlock mimicked his actions and put his tea down on the table next to the bed on his side.

"Yes, John. It is. It shouldn't, but it really is. Are _you _having second thoughts?"

John looked at him with an unreadable expression for a few moments before scooting closer.

He looked right into Sherlock's eyes, which were full of unease and that vulnerability that only John got to see, and he whispered:

"Sherlock... I love you."

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and relief replaced the unease in his clear blue eyes.

John kissed him then, so softly, and Sherlock felt so many emotions he had no names for, but the result tightened his throat and made him want to hold the back of John's neck, which he did.

When he finally pulled his mouth free, Sherlock rested his forehead against the doctor's.

"Thank you for saying it." He whispered. John smiled.

"Anytime."

Sherlock and John sold both their beds and bought one large enough to hold them both. They still argued and shouted and got angry with one another, but that always meant great make-up sex. They didn't hold hands in public, but they occasionally stole kisses in restaurants or in Sherlock's lab, much to Molly and Sarah's dismay.

And John helped Sherlock to understand the 'common man.' He began to stop himself before telling Molly that her hair looked better long, started sympathizing with newly widowed women, and honestly understood the cost of every life lost in their endeavors. Sherlock could still be cold-hearted, when his mind was going a mile a minute, and he would yell at Mrs. Hudson, or tell everyone in the vicinity to shut up, and John would touch him somehow, or say his name quietly, and Sherlock would snap out of it. He would even apologize on occasion. Sally stopped calling him 'freak.'

And they loved each other until they died.


	6. Epilogue

Sherlock Holmes had come to appreciate irony, and so there could only be one restaurant he would take John to. He could hardly resist the poetry of it. It was the same restaurant they had once sat, waiting for the man with the woman in pink's phone. Sherlock had sat just there, gazing out the window, and John was facing the rest of the dining couples.

The waiter had referred to John as his date. They both had corrected him simultaneously. The memory of it almost made him chuckle.

And yet, here John sat, still as handsome, and most definitely Sherlock's date.

Life with Sherlock had affected John, and he could see the world through the eyes of his genius if he tried. Sometimes when he didn't try. He could deduce almost as fast as him now, but every now and again, Sherlock would be one step ahead. He would keep trying.

As for life with John, Sherlock had grown much more sympathetic, more kind-hearted, and would not remark on the state of Sally's knees anymore. It had done him a world of good. He no longer hated himself.

Sherlock watched John's face, all the small muscles around his mouth and eyes pull and loosen, endlessly fascinated. He said something to make John smile, and Sherlock smiled in return. Yes, he was sure.

If he wasn't, he would not have bought the ring.

He cleared his throat and with it, his head.

They had only bought drinks. Sherlock didn't want to deal with eating or digesting.

He was lost in thought when John spoke up. There had been a lull in the conversation.

"Sherlock?"

His eyes refocused on his doctor.

"Hmm?"

"Something's bothering you. You've been on edge all evening."

A smile shone somewhere in Sherlock's blue eyes. He looked down into his drink, gathering all his courage, and then looked back up at John with that vulnerability he knew John could not resist.

"John, would you like to get married?"

The doctor's jaw dropped with a satisfying _pop_.

"I... Well... Sure. Yes." God, he was adorable when he spluttered.

"Great."

"Great."

They sat in silence, looking at each other. John with shock and Sherlock with barely contained joy.

They weren't sitting completely opposite each other, but John still had to scoot his chair to get close enough to Sherlock to kiss him suddenly. He did it all in one swift move and Sherlock would have been caught off guard if he had not been anxiously expecting it.

This was no peck on the lips, but neither of them cared in the slightest. As he kept the other man occupied, Sherlock pulled the ring box out of his coat pocket, and pressed it into John's hand.

They parted and he looked down at the small velvet box in his hand, then back up at his lover – _fiance_.

"Sherlock, I-"

"Open it."

He did. Inside was a simple gold band, which shone brilliantly in the warm light of the restaurant. Neither one of them were big with jewelry, but it drew a gasp from John nonetheless. He was looking at his future, at a commitment, a promise, a lifetime with...

"Sherlock..." Tears were actually brimming in the doctor's eyes.

"You do like it, don't you? I... I confess, I was at such a loss when picking it out. The assistant kept giving me strange looks and I got flustered and-"

He was cut off by warm lips on his.

"I love it." Sherlock smiled with relief.

John sat back in his seat and pulled the ring out. He giggled giddily as he slid it onto his ring finger. He then looked back up at Sherlock.

"I'm going to _marry_ you." There was wonder in his voice. Sherlock smiled.

"I suppose you are. Why? I may never know."

"Oh, shut up."

John seized him by the lapel and forced their lips together. A chuckle rumbled low in Sherlock's chest.

They knew they couldn't just continue snogging there in the window of a restaurant, and so they left as quickly as was socially acceptable, and arrived back at 221B Baker Street within five minutes.

They did get married, altar and all, with a small assembly of mostly people from the police force, including Lestrade, Sally, and even Anderson. Molly and Sarah even showed up. Mycroft was in the front row. He cried.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thus ends my story. It was originally meant to be a one-shot. Another failed experiment...? Hahaha. :) Thanks to the two of you who reviewed already (Jamie - Love you! :D) and to anyone else who feels like reviewing, I certainly won't try to stop you. (OHMYGOD PLEASE REVIEW THIS, I AM DYING. I NEED FEEDBACK.)<strong>


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